Plays 1

by Kwame Kwei-Armah

  But we can see that he has been affected.

  Leave me alone.

  He steams out of the office.

  Lights. The dub rhythm of Aswad’s ‘Tuffist’ echoes around the room.

  Scene Five

  Night time. Kwaku is in the office. The bottle of rum is next to him. He’s opening letters and reading them.

  Soby How’s it going, boy?

  Kwaku (as if he’s always been there, almost laughing) Really fucking badly. What have you got me into, Soby? I’m this high in shit . . . You know who I just received a letter from? The BNP. Before that, UKIP. Both asking me to be keynote speakers at their next . . .

  Soby That’s good, people from all side want to hear your view?

  Kwaku They don’t want to hear my view . . . they want a black face to confirm their anti-integration, anti-immigration anti-fucking . . .

  Soby (anger) And they right. Integration is what has failed we West Indians, boy . . . When we came here instead ah keeping we self to we self and telling we children about the horrors of de white people . . . all we wanted to do was follow dem to the pub. Come here wid all we dream and mek dem take dem from we? And we doh do nottin. We deserve to die. Anyone who comes to a land and doesn’t know how to fight properly will have to die.

  Kwaku That’s what you always used to say.

  Soby Because it’s right. But you’re not going to be like that, nooo . . . You are the first generation of university-trained Caribbeans born in dis land – dem shouldn’t be able to run roughshod over you like they did us . . . You know the rules, the rules of their game . . . You have to strategise.

  Kwaku Yes, I’m sure you’re right, but . . . are you sure this split thing is the right . . .

  Soby You’ve got to be bold, son, like I was. You going to always let me down? We is bottom of the pan-African tree? Everywhere you go, people ask you where you’re from, who

  your people of letters are? Which thinkers had ideas that changed the course of history?

  Kwaku I’d simply say . . . Toussaint l’Ouverture – I’d say T. A. Marryshow, the father of the West Indian Federation . . . I’d say C. L. R. James, I’d say Marcus Garvey, I’d say Eric Williams . . .

  The lights change as Adrian walks into the room.

  Adrian Who are you speaking to, Dad?

  Kwaku looks around. He can’t see Soby

  Kwaku (slightly confused) I was, I was just telling Soby . . .

  Adrian Soby? Who’s Soby? Wasn’t that Grandad’s home name?

  Kwaku doesn’t answer.

  Kwaku What are you doing here this hour, boy?

  Adrian I came to look for you.

  Kwaku (relaxes a bit) Huh! (Laughs.) That’s why me love you, you know, boy. You think about your father . . . If there’s one regret I have . . . I should have followed him into the funeral business, I should have looked after ‘we’ first . . .

  Adrian Dad . . .

  Kwaku He’s was right, you know, I lived to be exactly what he said I would be – dependant on the white man’s handouts for everything . . . and it’s sending me maddd, son! But I’m a warrior!

  Adrian Dad, do you think there’s a possibility that you . . .

  Kwaku That I what?

  Adrian (struggles) I was thinking you’re under a lot of pressure right now. Maybe it might be worth us checking in with someone that can help.

  Kwaku springs up.

  Kwaku Help? What de arse you talking about? What I need help wid, Adrian? . . . I’ve never been better. I love this – forget Michael and dem people dem . . . War is what I’m here for . . . Look, look . . .

  He picks up a piece of paper from his desk.

  Check this paper I just write. We’re not going to stop until the Africans say sorry too – Good heading, huh?

  Adrian But they have!

  Kwaku (stops in his tracks) W-w-when was that?

  Adrian December ’99: President of Benin, the Ghanaian President, and forty African kings apologised for their nations’ involvement in the enslavement of their fellow African people.

  Kwaku And so they should. But what’s the point in doing it African to African. The ones they sold are in –

  Adrian Dad, Dad, Dad! In 2003, they toured America apologising to African people in the diaspora.

  Kwaku (angered) Well, they haven’t said niche to we West Indians, to those of us born here, so . . .

  Adrian Dad, they all think you’re going crazy . . .

  Kwaku (spells it out almost) Do you know how bored I am after thirty years in the race business of speaking-about-race? Of hearing my father’s generation and then mine and then yours say the same things, measuring and celebrating each minute incremental step forward as if Jesus Christ had landed? I’m not crazy, son, I’m bored, and this is new, or old, or at least just something not said. Can you understand? Do you think it’s crazy to want to say something that has not been said before?

  Adrian No, but it might send you crazy trying to find it! Let’s prove them wrong. Let’s go see someone.

  Kwaku Adrian, Adrian, what are you saying? Father in heaven! . . .

  Adrian That’s where he probably is, but you were . . . speaking to him . . .

  Kwaku Of course I was speaking to him. That’s cos he’s here, that’s why. Who do you think helped me out of the situation I’m in now? Who do you think . . . He’s here . . . Who do you think I have to turn to? No one but him.

  Adrian Dad, I believe you, but put that on top of losing your memory sometimes . . .

  Kwaku Fuck you . . .

  Adrian Not being able to concentrate . . .

  Kwaku Everybody has that . . .

  Adrian Becoming irritable, saying or doing inappropriate things . . . Losing one’s ability to keep track of finances . . .

  Kwaku Get lost, leave me the hell alone . . .

  Adrian You recognise any of those things, Dad? I want to fight this fight too, but . . .

  Kwaku No you don’t, you just want to run, like everybody else. ‘I am owed, OK’, I am owed. Just as I begin to get close to him he’s . . . In fact, you know what . . . I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Go, go, just like the others.

  Adrian No one can reparate you for your father. Let’s both be strong, let’s both be . . . healed, Father. That is why you brought me here, wasn’t it?

  He steps to hold him . . .

  Kwaku Get out! Out! Should have left you in that stinking hovel when you was a child. Make sure you tell your mother what you have done to me today. Make sure. Come out! Out!

  Adrian eventually leaves.

  Kwaku You hear them? You hear them? They saying I crazy. Crazy, you know . . . because I can feel you . . . Crazy cos I refuse to drop the baton but runnnn, Fadder, like you did, run bring we to where we should be . . . These poor children, they need me, they need me to talk the truth, to tell it the way it is . . . and when they hear it, they’ll know that someone cares, they’ll start to hold their heads up high . . . I’m right, aren’t I? Talk to me na! Do I need a healing, Daddy? You think so? Where do I find that? Am I not the one who built this place to do just that? I am right, aren’t I? Tell me I was right.

  Lights.

  Alternative Ending

  The radio version of Statement of Regret continued with the optional alternative ending that follows.

  Kwaku Talk to me na? I am so lonely, Dad . . . So lonely . . . I mean, if you don’t speak to me, who will?

  But Soby has gone.

  Kwaku You think I gone crazy too? You think so, Daddy? Just tell me I’ve done right. Tell me I do what you say I should. I’m so tired. Tired. Just so . . .

  He lies down heavily. We hear his deep breathing, almost asleep.

  After a short while Lola enters. She kneels on the floor and pulls Kwaku up in her arms.

  Lola (firmly as if almost invoking) Get up, Kwaku . . . Get up.

  He doesn’t move.

  Lola I said, get up, Kwaku . . .

  After a few beats he slowly rises.


  Kwaku What you doing here Lola? Thought you were in Nigeria. (Trying to gather himself.) Excuse my appearance right now, I’m just . . .

  She stares at him, stopping him in his tracks.

  Lola I’m taking you . . . We going to find someone to heal you, let us find someone . . . someone that can rest their hands on your head . . .

  Kwaku He tell me I need to heal! Where do I find that healing, Lola? Am I not the one that built this place to do just that?

  He doesn’t know what to do.

  Lola Come.

  Eventually he walks towards Lola. When he is close they stand looking at each other. Eventually he hugs her, for the first time in years. Lola hugs him back, in fact holds him up.

  Kwaku (whispers) I’m sorry.

  Lola I know. And so am I, Kwaku. The battle has changed, Kwaku. Maybe it’s time we rest. Maybe it’s time we let the young ones make their mistakes.

  Kwaku Maybe. Take me home, Lola.

  They walk out of the office.

  Let There Be Love

  Let There Be Love was first presented at the Tricycle Theatre, London, on 17 January 2008. The cast was as follows:

  Gemma

  Sharon Duncan-Brewster

  Maria

  Lydia Leonard

  Alfred

  Joseph Marcell

  Directed by Kwame Kwei-Armah

  Designed by Helen Goddard

  Lighting design by Rachael McCutcheon

  Characters

  Alfred, sixty-six. West Indian male. Quintessential grumpy old man, a cross almost between Alf Garnett and Victor Meldrew.

  Maria, mid- to late twenties. Young Polish woman. Bright, sprightly and confident.

  Gemma, thirty. Alfred’s daughter. Classic last child of the pioneer generation. Struggles to know where she fits. Very attractive.

  Act One

  Scene One

  Front room of Alfred Morris’s house. It is decorated like a classic West Indian home circa 1980. The radiogram holds pride of place in the corner, the ‘globe’ on a trolley that opens up revealing itself to be a bar, is somewhere close. The flowery wallpaper is almost back in vogue. The place is not dirty but is in need of serious sorting out. Only the sofa and chairs look somewhat new. Alfred’s electric wheelchair is somewhere in the room. In a another part of the room is a suitcase.

  We hear the toilet flush. Enter Alfred, sixty-six. His right leg is in a light bandage, but he walks well. Waiting in the room is his daughter Gemma, thirty: a pretty girl with short cropped hair, baggy jeans but nicely fitted top. Her look is that of a trendy lesbian woman – not explicitly, but those who know can see. Although she doesn’t have to, Gemma speaks most of the time in a deliberate old-school Eastern Caribbean accent. It’s not an impression, just her choice. When it flips, it’s back to London black.

  The atmosphere between them is frosty.

  Alfred (almost cold) All right, well, you’ve seen me back home, you could go now.

  Gemma ignores him, heads for the globe bar and fixes herself another drink. The top half of the globe, however, is very wobbly.

  Gemma (kisses her teeth) Why you does keep dis ole ting I’ll never know. And dis. (Referring to the radiogram.) There are music players created this side of the millennium, you know. What you running me for anyway?

  Alfred I was perfectly fine to come home by meself, you know. What the damn hospital have to call you for I’ll never know.

  Gemma If they didn’t think you needed someone to take you home they wouldn’t have asked. What was you in there for anyway? Your bandages don’t come off for another month.

  Alfred (ignores the questions) It’s only because I didn’t want to disturb them why I didn’t call Stix’s from across the road’s children. They know when to leave.

  Gemma Stay with you for an hour is what they said, and that’s what I’m going to do. (Carefully.) Anyway, there’s something else I need to talk to you about – what you want to drink?

  Alfred (glares at her) At least you sister tells me straight she wish I was dead, but you is always the sneaky one, innit?

  Gemma What?

  Alfred The bungle-load ah pill you know I’m on for me pressure, me urine and me heart, and yet is drink you want to offer me?

  Gemma She didn’t wish death upon you, she said she wished you weren’t deaf! If you’d wear your hearing aid you’d have heard . . .

  Alfred (getting vexed) Hearing aid? What, hearing aid could cover the hate in she eye?

  Gemma Can you blame her, you start calling she husband a . . . (Decides against it.) You know what? I’m going to fix you your shake. What you want, strawberry, vanilla or chocolate?

  Alfred I don’t want any.

  Gemma Well, you’ve got to. You’ve got to eat something, the doctor said . . .

  Alfred (suddenly concerned) Which doctor? One in the hospital?

  Gemma No, your GP.

  Alfred (relieved, kisses his teeth) You think I does listen to dem Indian doctor?

  Gemma He’s South African, Dad.

  Alfred . . . And no matter where they come from, they is always an Indian – they will tell you dat themselves . . . you think dem like we? More West Indian dead in this town from bad advice from Indian than cock does crow.

  Gemma (tries to change subject) Dad, look . . .

  Alfred Look what? In me own house I can’t finish a sentence? Every time I try to talk you have to stop me, Gemma?

  Gemma (taking deep breath) I’m not trying to stop you finishing your sentences, but, truth be told, I’ve heard it all before . . .

  Alfred What have you heard before?

  Gemma Your quite frankly offensive statement about Asian doctors.

  Alfred How can you be offended by the truth? You know how I have to beat up that man to give me me painkillers for me to sleep when I twist me foot?

  Gemma Dad . . .

  Alfred No, don’t ‘Dad’ me, tell me why would you find the truth offensive?

  Gemma Maybe because it’s not.

  Alfred Not what?

  Gemma Da truth. You know this isn’t worth –

  Alfred – arguing about? Why, cos you can’t defeat my thesis, that’s why . . .

  Gemma (almost mumbles) That’s right, Dad. I’ll never be able to defeat your super-superior intelligence . . .

  Alfred That’s right, bloody leave school with nothing in you head, how you go beat my intelligence?

  Gemma doesn’t answer. Her mobile rings. She moves well away from her father.

  Gemma (almost whispering) Saved by the . . . What you playing at? You suppose to be here. Like now . . . No, talk, he can’t hear . . . For Christ’s sake . . . Tell them to get someone else . . . Today! . . . Char.

  She puts down the phone.

  Alfred Who was that? Your coolie boyfriend?

  He pushes ‘boyfriend’ as if to provoke her. She ignores the provocation and just stares at him.

  Gemma So, do you want the shake or not?

  Alfred What don’t you understand about the letters N-O, when they are in close proximity to each other?

  Gemma You need to eat something.

  Alfred When you’re gone, I’ll call Stix – he’ll send one of his children when they get in to get me some proper food – though I have to say I doesn’t like the way them new Jamaican does cook . . . Food does smell frowsy . . .

  Gemma (straight) Do you like anyone, Dad?

  Alfred Yes, me.

  Silence.

  Gemma Dad . . . when the hospital called yesterday, Janet and I . . .

  Alfred Don’t mention that girl name to me, you hear?

  Gemma My sister and I have been thinking – the whole idea why we had you move in with her, in the first place was to –

  Alfred – humiliate me! . . .

  Gemma – to have someone there that could look over you . . . Wandering around this big old house, I mean it’s a potential minefield, as we done know.

  Alfred That coulda happen to anybody. I’m perfectly fine lookin
g after meself thank you.

  Gemma No, you’re not . . . the reason you in the hospital backside every five minutes is –

  Alfred I am not in hospital every five minutes – this was a routine test, booked months ago. And the reason I’m not eating is because you try swallowing after you’ve had a camera on a wire shoved down your throat . . .

  Gemma Why were they doing that?

  Alfred (avoiding) Ohhh, what do you care anyway? Leave me alone. Pussyhole!

  Gemma What you call me?

  Alfred You heard. I said you are a pussyhole . . .

  Gemma takes a deep breath, like she’s counting to ten to control herself.

  Gemma I tried tell you, you know, Dad – don’t talk to me like that.

  Beat. He slightly retreats, but he has succeeded in getting her off the subject.

  Alfred (kisses his teeth) You hear you Uncle Trevor dead last week?

  Gemma (short) Yeah, yeah.

  Alfred West Indian dying like fly boy. Heart just give way, bam! Lucky bitch.

  Gemma Lucky?

  Alfred Better it sneak up on you than tell you in advance. Is the funeral next week, Tuesday. I can’t go – cos ah me leg – but I tell he son that you would go for me, represent the family and ting, so mek sure you dress nice . . . like a woman, OK.

  Gemma You said I’d do what?

  Alfred Represent the family. You is the eldest –

  Gemma No I’m not – Janet is.

  Alfred What you shame to represent me now? You shame ah me?

  Gemma Dad, I ain’t seen Uncle Trevor or his kids since I was about six.

  Alfred (getting irate) And?! You see, you see, that is why you black children killing yourself on the street . . .

  Gemma What?

  Alfred Dat is we tradition, the eldest represent de fadder if he can’t be there – but . . .

  Gemma I’ve told you, Janet is the eldest.

  Alfred Don’t make me have to tell you about that again, gal.

  Gemma (finding her way in) Dad! I think you’re absolutely right. Your leg doesn’t allow you to do the things you want to. Rather than let me bring your suitcase up you’d rather fall down the stairs –